[Welll… let's just say he's a man of priorities.]
Kyone's dry voice lingered in Azel's head.
Not even she could defend the man.
The Patriarch had been too eager, too transparent in his hunger for divinity.
Azel stretched slowly, his muscles aching, his bones still buzzing with the memory of his father's strikes.
He felt like a ragdoll that had somehow been held together with spit, tape, and divine luck.
'Imagine… every strike he threw wounded me,' Azel thought, exhaling. 'If I didn't have healing, I wouldn't have been reckless. But still, it was all in good spirits. Seems like I've got a long way to go.'
Every swing had been a lesson, every clash a reminder of how wide the gulf still was.
His father's strength was incomprehensible, a mountain looming over his path.
Azel loved this peace, this warmth, this chance to grow stronger surrounded by people who cared for him.
